All or Nothing(12)
I sat up on the bed, needing to distance myself from his sweet touch before I did something I might regret. I drew a deep breath, trying to clear my head from the wine and simultaneously ignore the ache between my legs that his presence alone inspired. “You’re suggesting a friends-with-benefits type of arrangement?” I asked, pressing my fingers to my temples. I wished I hadn’t drunk so much. My brain felt numb and heavy.
Braydon sat up beside me, watching my reaction. After a moment, he reached for his glass of wine and took another sip. “Hmm.” He swirled the wine in his glass. “I prefer something more original. Pleasure pals . . . bed buddies . . .”
I smiled despite the insane conversation we were having. “Fuck friends.”
“If you like.”
“I don’t know . . . I don’t think I can do that. . . .” I said softly.
He took my hand. “Don’t answer tonight. Let me take you home and tuck you into bed.”
I nodded. Sleep sounded heavenly. I’d had too much wine. Too much pizza. Too much hormone-fueled conversation with a devastatingly handsome man. My body wasn’t used to this.
“What time do you get off work tomorrow?”
“Six,” I responded without thinking.
“I’ll come by at seven with dinner. We’ll discuss our arrangement then.”
Our arrangement? “Okay,” I agreed, sleepily, wondering what in the world I was actually agreeing to.
• • •
Someone had stolen my brain and replaced it with a pile of goo. I couldn’t concentrate at work. I could barely form cohesive sentences. I’d dropped several petri dishes, spilled a specimen, and contaminated another sample I was working with. I’d consumed way too much wine for a Wednesday night and had woken up late and hung over. I’d gotten ready in a hurry, and as a result my hair was flat and dull and the dark circles under my eyes made me look like a zombie on crack. At lunch, I’d been so distracted, I’d picked at my food and dropped a huge glob of tuna salad on my shirt. Which led to me spending twenty minutes in the restroom trying to clean the stain, all while cursing myself out that I’d eaten smelly old tuna fish for lunch when I was supposed to see Braydon that night. I’d have to get home a little early to change my shirt and brush my teeth. Maybe touch up my makeup. And shave. Oh God, this was exactly why he wasn’t healthy for me. He sent my brain into overdrive. I hadn’t felt butterflies like this since I was in tenth grade and got felt up for the first time.
I’d replayed in my head what I would say to him a million times. Of course I’d refuse his offer. I was flattered, sure, but I couldn’t actually go through with it. I’d just have to make him understand. Braydon, though I’d known him only a short time, could be very persuasive. And that’s what scared me most. I couldn’t let myself get sucked into his world.
I fumbled with the dial on my microscope, cursing loudly when I couldn’t get the damn thing to cooperate.
“Are you okay?” my boss, Lydia, asked. She was looking at me with a concerned look, her wire-rimmed glasses balancing at the end of her nose. Lydia was a great boss. Smart as a whip, patient, and a great advocate for our department to receive the funding and training we needed to perform. I loved working for her. But we never discussed our personal lives. Ever. Aside from a simple “How was your weekend?” And I didn’t plan to start now. “You seem distracted today,” she said.
“I’m fine,” I lied. I focused on the task in front of me, hoping she’d let it drop.
“I’ve worked with you long enough to know when something’s wrong.” She removed her glasses and set them on the table beside her. Her brown eyes crinkled in the corners as she gave me a sympathetic smile. “You can talk to me, you know.”
I frowned and rubbed my forehead. I had a pounding headache from thinking about this arrangement with Braydon. “It’s nothing. Just guy problems.”
“Ah. I see.” She nodded, her eyes weary and wise, like she’d been around long enough to know all about such matters. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I inhaled deeply and released it slowly. “No. But thank you for the offer.” How did you tell your boss that a sexy male model wanted to become your . . . what did he call it again? Oh yeah, pleasure pal. No, I wouldn’t be explaining that to my boss. I wanted to keep my job, thank you very much.
She replaced her glasses and patted the back of my hand. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Elizabeth. You’re a very smart girl.” She was one of the only people who called me Elizabeth and not Ellie.